


A Cleansing Fire - A Hallow's End Tale

by Kioma



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Costumes, F/M, Horde Races, Light BDSM, Masks, Wax
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kioma/pseuds/Kioma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Orc is talked into attending her very first Hallow's End ball... with hot results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cleansing Fire - A Hallow's End Tale

**Author's Note:**

> One of the first WoW eroticas I wrote, specifically for the Hallow's End festival one year.

It was the waning of the year, the dimming months, when the skies were grey and dark. Bats wheeled overhead. The maddened cackle of the Headless Horseman could be heard in the far, far distance. Candles lit every window, jack o' lanterns leered from each sill and doorstep.  
  
Mischief and candy, always a potent mix, were in abundant supply. Reason was washed away on a mixture of recklessness and sugar as the people of Azeroth celebrated Hallow's End and the turning of the wheel of seasons.  
  
Such wonders, such thrills, such parties!  
  
* * * * *

It was to one of these parties that Chekaya Drakestongue had been invited two months prior. The missive she'd received had informed her that it was to be a masquerade, a stylish and grand old thing, with debonair costumes and flowing gowns. Her friend had invited her – a blood elf, of course – and had informed her that she expected Chekaya to wear a ball gown.  
  
Chekaya hated dresses of all sorts. They were draughty, impractical and too darn soft in her opinion. The only concession she made to this was of robes, and even then solely for battle. If it wasn't tough enough to turn aside a blade she didn't want to know about it.  
  
Her friend had expressed sympathy over her views, though she most certainly didn't share them, and told Chekaya that she certainly didn't have to come, though it would be a great shame not to have the orc there. Particularly, the elf opined, as her green-skinned folk were burdened with a reputation for being brutish thugs incapable of some grand old fun – a reputation that Chekaya only  _mostly_  agreed with.  
  
And so the challenge was laid and the orc seized it, though reluctantly, like someone picking up a snake they suspect might be poisonous.. or a cat that may, in fact, turn out to be a skunk.  
  
Her friend was overjoyed, of course. Of all the races of the Horde none beat the green-eyed elves for sheer mania. The dress needed to be a ball gown of considerable class, she was informed, for sweeping across the dance floor in grand style. Chekaya was given names of tailors, mask-makers, milliners, cobblers and the shaman wondered, not for the last time, what she'd gotten herself into.  
  
Facing down a swarm of the Legion, massacring the Twilight cultists infesting Silithus, smashing countless undead to pieces with mace and magic, these she could do with no fear. But this was a different battle entirely, one that she felt completely ill-prepared for.  
  
She was surprised to find that the masquerade had a theme; most good ones did, her friend told her. Given the season this one was, of course, Hallow's End – costumes and masks were to represent ghouls, ghosts and beasties. The details were up to the orc but those were the guidelines.  
  
Having received them, written down on some of her friend's rose-scented note parchment, Chekaya went on her way. Reading over the list she wondered, again, what she'd gotten herself into.  


* * * * *  
  
The night of the masquerade was particularly grim and spooky. It was as if the seasons had conspired with the blood elf to make the evening as dramatic as possible. It was set in a private manor in Eversong, quite close to the Ghostlands, and in full swing well before Chekaya got there.  
  
The sky rumbled with thunder and the distant flashes of lightning spoke of a storm raging in the distance. The tremors surrounding the lands to the south were mere troubled growls from underfoot here. Shrieks of laughter and jaunty but dark music greeted the orc's pointed ears as she dismounted from her wolf, who was taken away by a handler. It took a few sharp words from the shaman to stop the snarling beast – who had frankly quite objected to having little pumpkin-shaped talismans braided into his coat that morning – attacking the poor elf man.  
  
Chekaya straightened herself and brushed down her dress. The orc was still having trouble getting used to it. She was quietly proud of it, though. She thought she'd done rather well considering her inexperience with such things.  
  
Was it a ball gown at all? Some of the seamstresses insisted it was, other that it could not possibly be. They spoke in some strange language that Chekaya couldn't comprehend, uttering occult terms such as 'sweep train' and 'embellishments'.  
  
The discussion escalated into argument and for a moment the shaman wondered if there was going to be blood; when it became clear that wasn't the case she'd taken reasonably gentle hold of a fistful of the head seamstress's coiffured hair – just to get her attention – and asked in a dangerously quiet voice if the garment were suitable for what she was to wear it to, or whether she was going to have to listen to another hour of the girls' inane prattle about buttons and chiffon.  
  
The consensus, which was then reached with surpassing swiftness, seemed to be that, whether or not it was  _technically_  a ball gown, it was certainly a gown of a style that some people wore to balls. That was good enough for Chekaya.  
  
It was a variation of a classical style, altered for her form, both muscular and blessed with womanly curves. Those curves were accentuated with a tight-fitting corset bodice that lifted her already ample breasts, presenting an enticing display of cleavage and serving to narrow her waist a little. The skirt was full length with a long, long split up her right leg, almost to the hip, the whole thing made in black satin brocade.  
  
Through the field of black, from the hem, curled exquisite embroidery of dark green vines bearing wickedly sharp thorns. Blood red roses of cloth and thread bloomed here and there, the biggest over one rounded hip, and the slit in the skirt revealed a flash of the black patterned silk stockings that clung to the rich green flesh of her legs, held up with a suspender belt. She wore heeled black leather boots that added two inches to her height, coming to just under the knee.  
  
The dress was gorgeous. Even the orc had to grudgingly admit it as she stood in front of the manor, looking up at the elven building with a dubious expression on her face, unconsciously swinging her hips back and forth to feel the fabric swish over her thighs and calves. It left her arms bare, as well, adorned only by a pair of elbow-length back lace gloves that matched her stockings.  
  
It had come with a matching bolero jacket but she'd left that at home; the only other thing she wore was her mask, a black leather thing she'd spent the last two months carefully crafting herself, getting the thorned curls to sit perfectly on her face, held on by a silk ribbon. Her hip-length brown hair, tied into a single thick braid, hung down her back as she surveyed the scene.  
  
No matter how much she looked, though, the manor didn't vanish and the butterflies in her tummy just got worse. Comfortable or not she had to go in and so, after a few more moments fussing over her clothes, she did.  
  
* * * * *

  
At first she couldn't recognise anyone. Quite aside from masks the shaman simply didn't get out much, whereas her blood elf friend most certainly did – got out and got around. There were maybe four dozen guests, each costumed and masked, many dancing but most talking, flirting, watching.  
  
She jumped nervously when someone clung to her muscled arm but she soon recognised her friend's perfect elven face surrounded by her perfect elven hair and half-hidden behind a perfect elven mask, cunningly made to resemble a lynx. She oohed and ahhed over Chekaya's dress, the orc grumbling under her breath, blushing behind her own mask and trying to deny that she enjoyed looking pretty.  
  
What was the theme of her costume? she was asked. A poison plant. It wasn't really a ball gown, her friend said, more technically a ball gown styled cocktail dress, but she didn't care – it looked gorgeous, she told the orc, and swished beautifully, and it was just too wonderful to see the shaman actually turn up.  
  
Quickly the blood elf showed the orc where all of the basic amenities were and asked her if she were going to dance. Laughing at the shaman's unmistakable expression of outright fear the elf pointed out that she, Chekaya, was unknown to the majority of the people here and that her identity was obscured by a mask. That gave her a free slate to act how she liked, so why not live it up a little?  
  
Chekaya reluctantly promised she'd think about it and the blood elf had kissed her cheek before whirling off in her perfect elven dress to dance with whoever she'd promised herself to next.  
  
She stared around. Elves only counted for a third of the people there – far less than the shaman had expected. Only a few tauren – one costumed as a murloc, amusingly – with the remaining majority being orcs and trolls. Two Forsaken were present. She didn't find herself very surprised about that.  
  
Even the servants were masked and costumed, each of the men a stylised skeleton, the women carefully made up to resemble banshees. One of the former clattered up to her and bowed grandly, even extravagantly, offering her some wine, and the orc took it gladly. Perhaps a bit of alcohol would calm her nerves, even if elven wine was trough water compared to orcish brew.  
  
A mere sip made her eyes water.  
  
She lifted the glass and glared at it suspiciously. It tasted like honey and berries but had a kick like a disgruntled mule. She tried some more and deemed it good; the skeleton refilled her suddenly empty glass and bade her have a good night before wandering off.  
  
Maybe the night wasn't going to be so bad after all.  


* * * * *  
  
There  _must_  have been something in the wine. Must have been. Chekaya couldn't imagine it was anything else. She wasn't a dancer and yet she'd crossed the floor with a ghost, a worgen, three ghouls, a pumpkin-headed pirate and a tiger who stunned her with his powerful, elegant movements.  
  
She'd even danced with her blood elf friend, and though she had no romantic interest in women at all, she felt the eyes of many of the men on the pair as they twirled and dipped and spun.  
  
Chekaya knew she wasn't very good at dancing. It didn't seem to matter, really, her spirits buoyed by the wine and cheer. The rambling music never let up, moving from one quirky melody to another, and even when she was simply sitting and resting she found herself the target of many men.  
  
 _Men..._  
  
Strong, broad-chested, muscled men.  
  
Their costumes and masks just seemed to accentuate their masculinity. The worgen had run a hand over her backside through most of their dance and the orc found herself, quite inexplicably, not snapping his neck. In fact she liked it. He was really a troll, she knew that, but his lupine mask had given her delicious shivers as he stared down at her, lithe and powerful as they'd twirled across the floor -  
  
So hot in here. Well, the orc had to admit, it was really her that was hot, not the room. Every time a man walked by she wanted to reach out and run a hand over one of those tight backsides or alluring bulges at the front of their pants.  
  
There must have been something in the wine. She wasn't like this! Most of the time she barely noticed her own desires. Relationships held no interest for her and apart from a few random encounters with other orcs in the field she'd remained unconcernedly celibate for longer than she cared to remember.  
  
In that place, that treacherous ball room, things were different. She could feel her heat rise as she eyed a passing orc's pants, then a blood elf's, then that troll worgen's. She imagined getting down on hands and knees and freeing one of those trapped manhoods, running her tongue along its length, kissing it...  
  
Her blood elf friend actually had to punch her arm to get her attention. Having captured it she hugged Chekaya, hoped she was having a good night, talked in hushed tones about some of the more attractive men there. The elf lady spoke of some of the girls as well but not overly long, knowing Chekaya's preferences full well. The gown was perfect, the elf told her for about the twentieth time that night, but something about her friend's tone and gaze suddenly made her realise the elf was envious, and it gave her a secret, guilty thrill.  
  
Then the elven lynx-girl was off again, flitting from group to group, chatting and flirting.  
  
Must be something in the wine. Chekaya flagged down a banshee and procured another glass. Just to test the theory, of course...   


* * * * *  
  
Later in the night Chekaya spotted her friend with a tauren girl and an orc man in one of the corners. As unfamiliar with the process of flirting and courting as the shaman was she nonetheless recognised a woman securing bed partners for the night. A brush of fingers here, a kiss behind the ear there, and the deal seemed to be done. The trio stole upstairs; most of the guests had left by then anyway and the servants could see the rest out.  
  
She still didn't quite know what she'd gotten herself in for. But she knew she was enjoying it.  
  
She'd gotten into a conversation with the worgen and the tiger, who turned out too be a blood elf, about the elements. All three were quite merry so when the banshees and skeletons came around again to top up drinks they all readily agreed.  
  
Chekaya found herself losing the track of her conversation a great deal. She was sitting between the two men, the three of them very close, one of her hands looped around the elf's waist, the other resting on the troll's strong thigh. The feeling of them was more intoxicating than the wine, that strong feeling of muscle and smell of man. Forget that neither of them was of her race, she didn't care about that.  
  
Her cheeks were hot and her flushed when the troll kissed her, his hands on her waist. She felt his tusks brush either side of her face and her back arched as the elf ran his hands – strong hand, stronger than she'd expected from an elf – over her captive breasts. She breathed in sharply, delightedly, and her chest strained against the cloth.  
  
The shaman sat trapped between the two of them, breasts being teased through layers of thick brocade and whalebone, lips being licked and bitten softly by the immense troll before her. She felt a sense of helplessness rise, thrilling and tempting, but she fought against it.  
  
Did she really want this? She hadn't been with one man in a long time, never with two. A brief internal battle ensued, somewhat bogged down by the alcohol bolstering her system, and she lifted her bottom enough to rub it back and forth against the blood elf's crotch.  
  
She felt his hardness, smelled their combined lust for her, and all debate was over.  


* * * * *  
  
Not one of them was up for travel. That was less to do with alcohol, though, and much more to do with the desire to rut like animals right there on the ball room floor. Chekaya couldn't remember ever being so wet. Her panties were soaked and she wanted nothing more than to get them off... except, perhaps, to get her new friends off.  
  
A banshee directed them to a guest room. It was a lush affair. As soon as they entered a rush of mana ran through the chamber and dozens of blood red candles lit, bathing them in flickering glow.  
  
There was a bed there, one of those big round soft things, and a chaise. There were chairs and a desk, a dresser, a door leading to a bathroom. There was even a small balcony. None of it really mattered, though, not right then – it was private.  
  
Chekaya felt the troll move up behind her, his hand running down to the split in her skirt and over her thighs, before withdrawing abruptly. The elf kissed at her mouth, neck, collarbone. She felt the ties at the back of her dress being undone and let out a husky growl of need. Her legs spread slightly as the elf's fingers glided down over her tight stomach, into her skirt at the split, then over her drenched gusset.  
  
That touch over her clothed sex made her gasp and then moan, and her eyes rolled back as she rested her head against the troll's shoulder. She felt her dress loosen and start to move down her body, peeled down her form like an exotic fruit, ripe and ready.  
  
She stopped the elf as he began undoing his mask. Shaking her head she let out a husky whisper, telling her lovers to leave them on. From the aroused growl behind her she could tell the troll liked this idea, and the elf's green eyes flared with lust, white teeth sparkling in the candle light as he nodded.  
  
When her breasts came into view the elf's lips met the lower swell of them. Her nipples were hard and darkened with her excitement, each pierced with a single gold ring, which the elf immediately pinched and tweaked until Chekaya was writhing in the troll's arms delightedly. Her hand dropped to squeeze and rub at the troll's remarkable bulge and she heard him swear quietly behind her as he peeled the gown down to her hips.  
  
She grinned wickedly and lifted her pelvis, tilting it in a slow, sensual motion against the elf's hand. Her pussy thrilled to the pressure of his fingers and when he whispered to her how wet she was she simply nodded and moaned back in response. She was hot, too, she could feel that. Hotter than she'd ever been and as she pulled the troll's pants open to draw out his thick length she felt herself shiver.  
  
As her dress was rolled down her hips the elf withdrew his hand, and she turned then to sink to her knees before the worgen-troll. Her hands ran up his thighs and then came down, tugging his pants out of the way, fingers trailing back up to play over the man's heavy balls and thick, glorious shaft. He was enormous, his rod thicker in the middle than either end, wickedly curved. She could imagine how he'd feel slipping into her and just the image made Chekaya's cunt throb and ache with want.  
  
Her lips brushed over that swollen glans and she ran the tip of her tongue around the ridged helm. The elf squatted behind her and she felt his fingers run between her buttocks, over her puckered behind, along her soaking slit, up to that lace-gilt clit. The hood was pierced, too, and she flinched as the elf found and tweaked that jewellery, letting out a squeal that sounded too high and girlish for her tastes.  
  
It dissolved into a guttural moan, though, and she was forced to capture his hand with hers to stop him going under the fabric. There was more to come first.  
  
Her lips parted enough to let the tip of the troll's member slide between her short tusks and into her mouth. She heard him groan and would have grinned again had he not been so damn big, her hot mouth accepting him inch by inch. The tip of her tongue swirled around that soft cap, tickling his underside, lapping at pole as her hands closed around that length and began stroking.  
  
Hands closed over the back of her head. Her eyes closed gently and she let him buck into her maw, gently but with growing urgency, hands stroking his thick shaft in time. She sucked perfectly, the troll growled, a perfect little slut, a wonderful little whore.  
  
Chekaya would normally have bitten down at that point but now, for some reason, the names excited her. Her eyes opened wide and she looked up at him, his tusked face snarling down in pleasure, and gave him a couple of eager little nods. She was his slut, their slut, and she needed their cocks.  
  
She pulled back as he drew close, though. Not yet, not ready, more to enjoy. The troll let out a deep groan and his tense body relaxed a little; he knew he'd get her eventually. He wasn't in any hurry. Besides, the sight of the orc woman kneeling before him was one he intended to savour.  
  
The elf stood and moved back a little as if expecting his turn but she disappointed him, though only briefly. She rose and moved to the bed, grasping the foot-board and leaning over to show them her rounded rump and muscled legs. Then, waving her backside enticingly back and forth, the lust-addled shaman told her two masked lovers exactly what she wanted.  
  
It didn't take long for the elf to lash the orc's wrists together and tie them to the foot-board using a length of silk rope they found in the bedside table, as if left there for this exact purpose. Knowing her friend's tastes Chekaya had no doubt that it was. She kept her backside well out, presented and proud, as the troll fetched two candles.  
  
He loped back and handed the elf a black one; he kept a red candle for himself. The two were as naked as her, now, their thick cocks bobbing in the light, and the sight of them took Chekaya's breath away.  
  
The first splatter of hot wax made her cry out, black heat dripping along the green skin of one tight buttock. It was joined soon on the other side by red wax, trailing patterns down skin that stung and tightened from the exquisite pain. Her panties had been removed and she was astounded her honey wasn't running down her legs.  
  
Wax was a joy she'd discovered in a shamanistic fire trial she'd performed years ago. Her senses tingled and sang from the delicious burn. The two men had been eager to give her what she wanted, too, though neither had tried this before.  
  
Over her hips and along her backside those two colours mingled. They were like trails of molten fire, liquid passion, burning a trail of lust along her rich green flesh. She moaned and panted at the extreme sensation, her mind a fog of need that grew with each drip, and when a drizzle of that stuff ran between her buttocks and over her sensitive ring she let out a great groan and collapsed to her knees.  
  
Her breasts heaved with her gasping. Wax fell upon her shoulders and spine. It was fire, cleansing fire, burning away all hesitation and leaving only desperate, wanton need. She could feel her back become a pattern of black and red as the two continued. She could hear the gasping of the blood elf as he pumped his cock in his free fist and she immediately turned her face, opening her mouth invitingly.  
  
She toyed and nuzzled it, kissing the proud length, finally sucking it between her lips. She heard that moan, felt his hand move to her braid, whimpered as it was pulled hard. Her head bobbed up and down on his cock as she lewdly sucked. He wasn't as big as the troll, of course, but he was a delightful shape and she didn't doubt his dancing skills were a reflection of his ability in the bedroom.  
  
And his taste...   


* * * * *  
  
Like the troll's had been he had the musk of  _man_  but his flavour was somehow spicy and enticing. Now she could feel her juices dripping through her fingers. So wet, so much more wet than ever before... She moaned around the pole and that buzz ran into his flesh, making him echo the noise.  
  
Her climax reared up almost before she could stop it and she pulled her face away as if burnt. Right on the edge, help and teased there by the sting of more wax, she carefully took him between her lips once more and paced her attentions until she felt him twitch and swell. With her new elf lover on the brink of his own explosion she let him slither free before twisting around.  
  
There was just enough give in her ropes to turn with her decorated back against the foot-board she arched her spine, knees spreading wide, and the first drizzle of the hot stuff struck her left nipple.  
  
She jolted, screamed, almost came. The pain lanced her through with pleasure and she felt her cunt convulse powerfully as her climax drew close, so close. Now both men pumped their poles as they watched, waited. Once she'd recovered they resumed, black and red trails running first her left breast and then her right.  
Again that line of pure joy splattered across her pierced nipple, the right one, and she clenched her hands into fists. She hadn't remembered it being so intense – but then she's done her previous way-play sessions by herself, without the help of two delicious, rock-hard men who smelled so inescapably good.  
  
And, of course, there'd been something in that wine. Hadn't there?  
  
Flexing her thighs and calves she pushed her pelvis up high. With her body parallel to the floor, lower legs at a right angle to prop her up, her sex was on display. Over her belly those drips continued, drizzles of fiery lust across sensitive ribs and thighs. Each molten touch made her thighs tremble.  
  
The troll carefully tipped his candle up, tracing a Horde symbol over her pubic mound. Her skin felt like it was turning white from pleasure, bleached by her promiscuous need, and she watched as his cock rubbed up against her knee temptingly.  
  
Up over her breasts again came that line of black wax. The elf trailed the stuff right between each coated breast, up over her collarbone, curling vines of colour that made her flesh darken. Chekaya's nipples were stiff and her orbs swayed and bobbed gently as the sensations made her writhe.  
  
Down each hip those lines of fire ran. Drop after drop coated her thighs, running down the sensitive inner expanses to cool quickly on the honey that had run there during her previous position. Along her outer thighs, too, meeting the drips that had come the other way when running down her prefect muscular ass, until her legs began to tremble and her moans grew more insistent, urgent, demanding.  
  
Putting the candles aside the troll and elf decided that enough was enough. It was time.  


* * * * *  
  
The troll didn't even bother untying her wrists. Instead he moved between her legs and hoisted her up, wrapped her legs about his waist. The velvet fur on his body made her gasp, sensual contrast to the now-cooled fire of wax. She gazed up at his lust-burning eyes, peering out from that snarling wolf-head mask, and her hands wrapped around the cord tethering her to the bed.  
  
It was all she could do to hang on. Some small part of her was glad she was tied down or she'd have fallen long ago, her body overly sensitive and aching for his cock.  
  
The sound of him entering was lewd and liquid. His cock was huge, her pussy tight from the teasing, g-spot already swollen and firm. If she weren't so tremendously wet he'd have had to force his way in. Not that she'd have minded. As it was, however, the motion loosed a trickle of her nectar that had built up as his bulbous head pushed its way past her flushed petals.  
  
She let out a deep, shuddering moan as he drove into her, thighs clenching and tightening around his waist to pull him closer. She was stretched around his bulging pole and just that first entry made sparks of light burst behind her eyelids. She felt his thick, strong hands wrap around her hips and Chekaya let out an earnest curse-word and husky laugh as he began to draw out.  
  
The shaman's toes actually curled as he thrust back in and then, with deliberately slow motions, the troll began a beat that drew him almost completely out and then made her wax-encrusted breasts bounce when he hilted in her.  
  
It was incredible. It had been far too long since she'd had any man there. Only her fingers and a few toys had delved that tunnel for too many nights and now it felt like he were literally fucking her mind out. Each time his balls struck her ass, every time that long pole rammed home with a wet noise, it was like a bolt of pure sexual energy were being loosed up her spine.  
  
It didn't take long for his thrusts to gather speed. She vaguely felt dried wax crack over her body as she writhed, suspended and fucked, was passingly aware of it crumbling over her hips and falling to the floor, but the powerful thrusts of this troll, masked and throbbing within her, dominated her senses, overwhelmed them.  
  
Chekaya's proud orbs bounced fiercely as he hammered her cunt. She was crying out, then, before she realised it, crying out for him to fuck her harder, faster, deeper. He delivered, didn't disappoint, calling her his little cock-slut and demanding she cum hard, loud.  
  
She did. Her heat hadn't receded far and now it erupted within her, the wave of her climax crashing over her like the water she commanded. Her blood seemed to burn with lust and she shrieked long and hard, screaming her orgasm to the walls.  
  
That seemed to trigger his, though if she'd been in a state to realise it she'd have noticed the troll had been holding out, but now his fingernails dug into her flesh as he slammed home one last time. Letting out a primal roar the blue-skinned beast's seed splashed within her.  
  
It was hot, and it was sticky, and she could feel him pulse and throb within her as he emptied. Her walls clenched rhythmically around him, seeming to milk him of his essence, legs not releasing him until he'd given her hungry sex every drop.   


* * * * *  
  
The elf untied her. He'd likely have cut her free if it had been his rope, so great was his urgency, and Chekaya still shivered with aftershocks as she was moved onto all fours, fingers and toes sinking into the thick, lush rug below her.  
  
He chuckled as great plates of wax came free from her rounded backside. He moaned softly at the dark marks they'd left on her beautiful jade skin, patterning her buttocks, and he added to them by spanking each cheek hard. The noise was a whip-crack in the room and her gasp bounced off the walls with it, followed by a low, keening moan of need.  
  
He lowered himself to kiss soothingly at those hand marks, then added more. He didn't slap her gently. She'd proven a taste for pleasurable pain and he intended to have her senses reeling again. One of his hands wrapped her braid around it and tugged her head back; her fingers clenched in the carpet but she didn't retaliate. It felt good to give herself to him, and she arched her back to bring her ass up for more.  
  
Whimpers broke from her throat as his other hand found her hood piercing and flicked it. She flinched powerfully, shuddered, thighs twitching and after a little more of this her hair was released, the delicious burn in her scalp cooling.  
  
The tiger-elf was a lot bigger than she'd thought. His thumbs parted her oozing sex, gently throbbing head resting at her entrance, and then he glided into her. He was cunning, too – his teasing and smacks hadn't only kept her heat at a high buzz, they'd tightened her cunt again. Chekaya's walls were snug and close as his elven rod pushed into her, forcing a little of the troll's seed out and down her thigh.  
  
Again her braid was seized. Again her head was pulled back and declarations of her sluttish hunger drifted to meet her ears as the blood elf's exquisite cock smacked home. He might not be as big as the troll but there was no doubt he knew how to handle his weapon. Each angle, each thrust, seemed to find and tease her sweet spots as he slid home in her burning hot sheath.  
  
Every slap of his balls against her hood ring made her pleasure rise and the elf's free hand, gripping tight at her hip, rose now and then to land sweet, sharp spanks on each cheek until her buttocks felt as glowing and warm as her wanton sex.  
  
She pushed back into each thrust, wordlessly growling, her strong green body demanding more and more. The tip of his cock smacked home as his beat grew faster. The shaman could hear him growling behind her, a sexy and merciless noise that surprised and delighted her to hear from an elf, and when his hand ran down her back in a strong, heavy scratch, ripping furrows in the cooled wax, he almost undid her.  
  
Marked and heated, spanked and scratched, her hair pulled and a thick cock pounding her from behind, Chekaya's senses went into overdrive. Back and back she pushed herself, body moving fast, breasts bouncing hard as she met each and every stroke he gave her. All ability to speak was lost, her moans and gasps mere wordless sounds of animal pleasure as he pummelled her.  
  
Her face was seized suddenly and something thick shoved in, something tasting of cum. The troll's cock again. One hand lifted to pump him desperately as he fucked her mouth; with her hair pulled back she couldn't bob on him, Instead she simply let herself go, cheeks burning with desire, eyes fogged and drunk with sex as she gazed up at her blue lover.  
  
Chekaya's hand was a blur on the troll's shaft and she moaned into his flesh, a keening wail as she felt him throb and swell again. She didn't stop when his orgasm hit, swallowing as much of the sticky cream as she could before letting him free. As she lapped as his rod he lets out a fierce groan and a final spurt of the stuff landed across her nose and one cheek.  
  
She let out a laugh that disintegrated into another keen, going back to slamming her ass against the elf's hips. He was tremendously close, she could feel him trying to hold off, and she clenched her walls down on him as they moved on a mixture of the troll's first climax and her own juices.  
  
He let her hair go and she stumbled forward, breasts now resting on the floor, pierced nipples rubbing the rug and adding to her pleasure as he fucked her as hard as he could. She felt like her insides were melting and as she ran a hand up to desperately rub at her clit she heard the elf's growl rise to a roar.  
  
The orc's own orgasm struck her almost without warning and her spine flexed powerfully, the floor mostly muffling her fierce scream as the two came together. This time her own was a lot stronger and liquid splashed across the elf's balls and thighs, a single but intense squirt that left her shuddering and useless as his cock throbbed within her.  
  
He came a lot more, it seemed, than his troll friend. Gout after gout of it burst within her and when he pulled out his hand kept pumping his cock, balls tightening again as a second orgasm struck him and his white seed decorated her bruised, marked backside.  


* * * * *  
  
She couldn't move. Her body refused to obey. They'd fucked her senseless, it seemed, and so she relied on them to lift her and carry her in to the bathroom. The tub was easily big enough for all three of them and soon they soaked together, Chekaya laying in the elf's arms, her legs draped over the troll's lap.  
  
There was kissing, and fondling, and quiet, murmuring speech. No talk of sluts now, no dirty speech, just quiet appreciation. The two nuzzled and bathed her body, the troll sliding a thick finger into her and teasing her to another sensual, gentle orgasm that left her twitching. It seemed like the icing on the cake, the sauce on the steak, as much a gesture of their respect as an act of wanton sex.  
  
Chekaya was lifted out, dried and carried to bed by her two lovers. She could probably have managed that herself but frankly she was enjoying being treated like royalty, especially after such willing abuse. Laying between them she shifted around until she half-lay on the troll's broad chest, the elf curled up against her back – all three of them still wearing those masks.  
  
She dreamed, that night, of bats and dancing and sex.   
  
* * * * *

  
They were gone when she woke up around midday. She felt a twinge of regret but only a small one – that had been the point of the masks, after all, hadn't it? She might fight beside the pair and never know it. The thrill of secrecy had been part of the spice...  
  
Nonetheless she couldn't keep the hopeful look from her eyes when there came a knock at the door. She dressed quickly in a black bathrobe that had been laid nearby and the look of disappointment on her face when she saw her blood elf friend grinning at her must have been comical.  
  
The two boys, she told Chekaya, had been reluctant to leave but decided in the end that it was better for pretty much the same reasons the shaman had already considered. They'd even avoided removing their masks as they bade each other goodbye at the manor gate – but they'd left something for her.  
  
Her friend peered around her curiously as she followed Chekaya back into the room. She'd heard the screaming last night – the rooms weren't soundproofed – and she'd had the most interesting night with her lovers as a result. The orc blushed but her friend hushed her awkward apology, telling her that it had been half the point of letting people stay, and asking her if she was going to open the present, already, as the elf was dying to know what was inside.  
  
Chekaya considered kicking the woman out at that point. It'd serve the nosy elf right – but if she hadn't pushed the orc to come to this damnably silly even she'd not have had what was undoubtedly the orc's best night of sex in her life.  
  
So they sat down at a little table on the balcony as the shaman opened the long, thin box. It had been wrapped that morning, obviously, and they must have gone to Farstrider Village or Silvermoon to buy the exquisite little silver mask pendant hung from a fine but strong chain. Next to it in the box were a pair of roses with long stems tied to a black and red candle with silk ribbon.  
  
She didn't answer her friend's intensely curious look and the little elf didn't ask. Perhaps the orc didn't really need to. Instead she just grinned a tusky, blushing grin and sat in silence as a servant arrived to feed them both bacon and eggs.  
  
The two chatted as they ate, then, about the costumes and dancing, the thrills and highlights of the night. There wasn't something in the wine, as it turned out, but Chekaya had guessed she'd been kidding herself.  
  
Then they spoke of the days to come, the rumblings from underground and the troubles in the Horde now that Garrosh Hellscream was Warchief... but even those words couldn't dim the glow in her sex and light in her heart as she daydreamed about those strong bodies and hard cocks, the wax and cum, Chekaya's night of cleansing fire.  
  
* * * * *  
  
_ENDE_


End file.
